Run

[Verse 1: Guilty Simpson]

Okay, Random Axe in the jam with Macs

Quick to let 'em clap like hands to dap

So street, yeah, we do it obese

Straight from the hood, so screw the police

Fuck the law with his cat, rat, dog, raw

The reason that your walk turns jog

The reason that your jog turns run

The reason that your run turns sprint

.38 snub with gloves, no prints

So you can see it in my eyes, I'm so tense

We have no rules, it's beef

Magic, I make a 7 footer 6 feet

If you got problems, get geek

Get beat, get shot, get sleep

Inflict hurt on 'em

Dig that hole and kick dirt on 'em

[Hook: Black Milk]

Make 'em gun, make 'em run

The game is over, game is done

Niggas mean business and nigga you ain't us

Show you how to kill 'em, we changing the game up

[Verse 2: Sean Price]

Listen: skets that clap

I'm the best at that

Quick to stretch cats like wrestling match

Yeah, so ill, Brownsville

Mic Tyson and Riddick Bowe, so what's the deal?

Still one of the best, you ain't on Sean's level

3rd place niggas with bronze medals

Sean is a don rebel

Sipping Chandon with the blonde devil

Anna Nicole Smith, duke, I plead the Fifth

Piff, puff puff pass to no one

Afro American ninja that'll injure your shoguns, P!

Body the best, a lot of y'all stressed

Chill, cop a pill, watch Dr. Phil

Got skills? Chop crills, get guap for real

In the mosque making salat like Akh is ill

Wa'alaikum Salam, I'm breaking your arm

Niggas still hating on Sean, I'm dating your moms

[Hook: Black Milk]

[Verse 3: Guilty Simpson]

A lot of cats talk shit, but don't test the D though

M16's break up teams like T.O. 

So gutter, ho cutter, 'dro puffer, dough tucker

Fo' bucker, murdering MC's with ice

With my mad man Jesus Price

NYC with the D-E-T

A.D. with the legendary BCC

[Verse 4: Sean Price]

A lot of niggas want to ride or die

Till I shoot up the driver's side of your window

Now die in your ride

Tough talking gets you touched, 2Pac Shakur shit

Went from a thug but now, you not too sure bitch

Akh, I walk with four-fifths and nines

Y'all niggas can't rap, forfeit your rhymes

Four-fifth your mind, .38 your face

And 12-gauge shotty your body

I get cake, nigga

[Hook: Black Milk]